


worthy of love, worthy of life

by atzxcv



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Tragedy, Canon-Typical Violence, Deity Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Deity Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Domestic Fluff, Family, Family Bonding, Family Dynamics, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Immortal Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Immortal Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Immortality, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sleepy Bois Inc Angst, Sleepy Bois Inc Fluff, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Sleepy Bois Inc-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-13 01:54:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29893857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atzxcv/pseuds/atzxcv
Summary: The beginning of life for immortal beings was often strange. Philza soon discovered that there was much more to this gift - or was it a curse? - that was bestowed upon him once he had lived well past the lifetime of any one man. Regardless, he became the Angel of Death. Who could say if it was his will or the will of another? Alone since the start, alone for thousands of years, having long since consigned himself to an existence of solitude.Tags to be updated as I add chapters.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	1. in the beginning

The beginning of life for immortal beings was often strange.

Philza was no exception to this. He had lived a simple life in a hardcore world, navigating it without fear in spite of the singularity of life in such a world. It was so long ago that the memories were beginning to fade, cracking around the edges. The memory of an immortal, although extensive, was not enough for millennia. But he remembered enough to know that he had built beautiful things. His memory caught glimpses of aquamarine temples surrounded by glass, of colored beacons shining through the darkness of the End. 

There was a satisfaction in building such things, in tearing away at the earth and stone to create something of his own. It was a piece of himself, immortalized in each stone he placed, even as his memory blurred and grayed. 

Perhaps that was why he was gifted with immortality himself. 

He remembered all too distinctly the strange pain of growing wings, or perhaps it was the strange understanding of coming to terms with the fact that he was no longer simply Philza. He was something more than he once was - something unnameable. 

Even so, once they were grown, it felt like coming home. It felt like finally becoming the person who was meant to be. 

He soon discovered that there was something more to this gift - or was it a curse? - bestowed upon him once he had lived well past the lifetime of any one man. 

Phil had found himself in a war: the first of many, although he didn’t yet know it. He kneeled in what was hardly more than a shack, holding the hand of a man he had once called his lieutenant. The hand of a dying man. 

The hand of a dead man. 

He watched as a glow collected over his chest, one he had never seen before. It was a scattering of orbs, glittering and glowing an indescribable gold. 

There were never any instructions, but he knew that it was a soul. 

As if on instinct, he reached a hesitant hand towards the spheres, collecting them, careful not to miss a single one. In a fluid motion, almost practiced, he launched them into the sky, releasing the man’s spirit to be among the stars. A sense of satisfaction settled over him, the same satisfaction he had once found in building immortal monuments.

But there was also an itch. It sparked and stung under his skin, almost pleading for chaos and destruction. At first, he let it through in bits and pieces. He found servers where wars waged, releasing the pent-up aggression on battlefields flooded by innumerable soldiers. He was one of thousands: faceless, nameless in the crowd. 

Every time he found himself thrown into the heat of battle, he smiled. The blood sang in his veins as his sword danced through the air, as if this is what he was meant to do the entire time. 

Perhaps it was this passion that caused him to become known. 

_ The Angel of Death. _

This blonde-headed man, black feathers whispering behind him, became known for the chaos left in his wake. The nickname began to make its way across servers until they surrounded him, the murmurs paving any path he took. 

Still, he found himself becoming attached to people. Perhaps it was in his nature as Philza, or perhaps it was the nature of the  _ more _ that he had become. It never lasted for long - it couldn’t. But there was a comfort in the simplicity of humanity, especially compared to the chaos that was too often in his life. He watched civilizations rise and fall as the millennia passed, until centuries became nothing more than child's play to him. 

As the years passed, he found himself leaning into the role of the Angel of Death. Growing into it. As he became more comfortable with it, he found his form growing as well. 

It started with his feathers. They began to shift from silky black to the black of the night sky - or perhaps it was closer to the infinite universe. His hair glowed, defying gravity as he floated above the clouds. It glittered against his wings, the sparkles in his feathers twinkling, almost communicating with the golden halo. 

His wingspan grew, carrying him faster and further, filling the room when he expanded them. Ghostly wings began to appear behind him, dozens of spectral wings above his own. They sparkled with an indescribable energy, as if they held a part of the hundreds of thousands of souls he had released into the stars. He had a suspicion that his eyes glowed in an unearthly way, as his vision glittered around the edges. 

It was this vision that made it possible for him to see the souls around him, the souls that resided in every entity. He found that there was a beauty in each soul. It rested in their chest, just below their collarbones. Some people’s glowed pure white, while others were tinted with a gentle color. Some glowed almost blindingly - those were the generals, the boldest of fighters, the first to leap into battle. Some pulsed gently, in time with breaths or heartbeats. These were the caretakers, the ones whose bravery was found in a quiet soul. 

He also discovered that the eerie appearance unsettled people. It made him too identifiable in a battle, too noticeable to his enemies. It made him a target. He learned how to tuck his wings into him back, how to hide the ethereal wings, giving him the appearance of a human. Still, some otherworldly aura seemed to push people away from him. 

For many years, he didn’t consider himself to be truly alone. How could he be, when he looked up at the stars and saw countless souls looking back at him? Lives that he had touched, spirits he had released - not to mention the whisper of chatter hovering just below the surface of his consciousness. 

He couldn’t remember precisely when the voices had started. They whispered of their lives, telling him tales as he stared up at the glittering stars. They murmured of things to come, countless possibilities in the innumerable voices. Some whispered in his instinct, warning him of an arrow flying towards his spine, while others proposed possibilities to help him plan for the future. 

Still, there were always moments where he wished for a companion, someone who could listen and understand. The wish never came in the big things. It lingered in the small things: when he made too much tea for one person, when he glimpsed laughing groups in multiplayer servers, 

But he was the Angel of Death. Alone since the start, alone for thousands of years.

He had long since consigned himself to an existence of solitude. 


	2. a soul like armor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The universe once again proves the Angel of Death wrong.

The voices - or as he had nicknamed them, the Chatter - began whispering to him of someone else. Someone new. He found himself wandering through the cobblestone streets of a dueling server, something in his gut urging him to keep moving. 

He had long since learned to trust his instinct. 

Phil smiled at the sight of the amphitheatre, an architectural wonder that gave him a strange sense of longing for the days of designing and building in his hardcore world. Rather than mingling with the crowd, he chose instead to leap into the skies, circling the coliseum a few times before settling on top of one of the many pillars. 

The battles began to unfold beneath him. He half-watched them, the sandstone cool against his wings, thinking instead of where he might like to go next.  _ Perhaps another battlefield, _ he thought.  _ Perhaps another war. _ He had no desire to stand out, which was inevitable in a competition server like this one. 

_ WATCH, _ Chatter urged.  _ Watch NOW. _

He looked down, hearing the crowd begin to buzz.  _ “Blood for the Blood God. Blood for the Blood God. Blood for the Blood God.” _ It echoed in waves, the chant circling the crowd.

Now this should be interesting. 

The person he assumed to be the Blood God made their way onto the dusty center of the coliseum, seeming to barely hear the cries of the crowd. They had a strong stride, scarlet cape visible even from Philza’s vantage point high above the crowd. 

“THE BLADE,” cried the announcer, the title taken up by the crowd. 

As the battle started, Phil kept a careful eye on the figure. The Blade moved with an unusual confidence, wearing the netherite armor as though it was a second skin. They changed from axe to sword to trident almost uncaringly. 

The fight was over before it had even begun. Phil could tell just by the way that the Blade stood. As the opposing fighter fell, Phil leapt off the pillar, gliding down to the ground soundlessly. He wove through the crowd, most of whom made every effort to avoid coming into contact with him, his otherworldly aura pushing them away. 

Arriving at the back entryway of the ampitheatre, he found only a single guard. The difference between them might have been comical. The guard stood a head above Phil, hair cropped short and muscles pushing against his armor. Phil wore no armor, appearing to be nothing more than a scrawny blonde. As Phil approached, the man tilted his spear, blocking the entryway with the shaft. 

“I’d like to speak to the Blade,” Phil said politely, hands folded weaponless in front of him. 

“The Blade does not speak with anyone.” The guard’s expression was unchanging beneath the diamond helmet. 

“I assure you, he’ll speak with me,” Phil replied, letting a hint of his otherworldly presence slip through, ethereal wings casting a shadow over the guard as his eyes glowed white and dangerous. 

The guard took a step back, looking as though he might faint or die - frankly, Phil didn’t really care which - but he let Phil through.

He made his way through the maze that made up the catacombs, the voices whispering when he needed to make a turn, before he practically slammed into the Blade, the other towering over him. 

“Can I help you?” he rumbled, arms crossing over a well-muscled chest. He stood with a warrior’s calm confidence, eyes hidden by an off-white mask that seemed to be a pig skull. Pink hair curled around the edges, having escaped the half-updo which kept the front of his hair pinned back, while the rest tumbled down his back. 

What was strange was his  _ soul _ . While most people’s souls rested in one glowing piece, Techno’s acted more like armor. It hovered around the edges of his form, running up and down his scarlet cape, glittering and sparkling on the countless golden chains across his body. 

Phil couldn’t help but wonder what the man saw. Did he see the ethereal being simmering beneath his skin, older than this server and countless others, or did he see nothing more than a naive blonde? He smirked, trying not to let his true excitement slip through. 

“There’s something you want to know,” Phil said, testing the waters. “I can help.” 

“And why do you think you can do anything for me?” The warrior almost bristled as he asked the question. 

Phil couldn’t help himself. “I can do things you couldn’t imagine,” he snapped, pushing at him. He wanted to see what this Blood God was made of. “You’re nothing compared to me.”

“Is that so?” His hand, adorned with golden rings, rested gently on the netherite sword which hung by his side, an unspoken threat. 

“Or are you afraid to find out? Too much of a coward?” Phil let himself smile bitingly. 

That was the snapping point for him. He unsheathed his sword, leaping forward before Phil had registered the movement. 

Phil’s body moved without him, leaning to the side as the blade flew bare millimeters away from his face. It shimmered with a magical energy - it was the Blade’s  _ soul _ that danced along the razor-sharp edge. His own sword appeared in his hand and he swung it upwards, the movement forcing the Blood God’s sword up. “You don’t want to do this.”

He grinned, exposing sharp tusks among his teeth. “Oh, but I think I do.”

Both of them leapt forward again, swords crossing in a field of sparks as both of them leaned into it, faces only inches apart, trying to force the other back. Something in that exchange - perhaps it was the way the Blade’s soul spun and sparked around him, or perhaps it was the sheer destructive fire in his eyes - told Philza everything he needed to know. 

“You’re like me,” Phil said with a laugh. 

“I’m nothing like you,” the Blade shot back. 

“Do you think so?” Phil leapt back on light feet. He let a piece of himself slip out into this reality, wings snapping out to fill the room, practically crowding the other man against the opposite wall. The familiar golden light wove around the edges of his sight. 

The other man took half a step back in surprise before righting himself, stepping forward as much as he could without treading on even a single feather. “I see,” he said, face unreadable.

Phil blinked, and in that instant, the shadows in the room seemed to double in length. Techno’s form grew, brushing the ceiling as he hunched over. His eyes glowed blood red, staring deep into Phil’s eyes.

Phil grinned. “Oh, now this is going to be fun.” He sheathed his sword, instead extending his hand towards the other. “My name is Philza.”

The Blade tossed his sword to his other hand, catching it deftly, before grasping Phil’s forearm in a warrior’s greeting. “Technoblade.”

* * *

And suddenly, Philza was no longer alone in the universe.

Technoblade - or Techno, as he soon came to call him - was the perfect companion to Phil’s chaos. 

The two of them reigned across countless servers. They decimated competitions, dancing through battles in a deadly waltz. They lived countless lifetimes together over hundreds of years. They were generals of a battalion of soldiers. Sometimes, they acted as mere footsoldiers. They led in competitions and puzzles. They were leaders, destroyers. Techno tended to enjoy being a stratician, coming up with indomitable plans, regardless of what the enemy threw at him. He created what should have been impossible plans for Phil, from spy to messenger to assassin. 

They created a reputation for themselves, one that carried far more weight than their individual names had held before. 

The Destroyer and the Vanquisher. Reaper and releaser of souls. An unbreakable pair. 

_ The Blood God and the Angel of Death _ . 

More than anything, they learned about each other. They learned how they both had voices whispering in their heads, although Techno’s was far more aggressive than Phil’s. 

Techno learned that Phil loved to see the stars. He learned how Phil found a solace in them. He learned how Phil loved tea, especially creating his own blends. Phil told him the stories of people he had loved and lost, of worlds he had raised and razed protecting the people dearest to him.

Phil learned that Techno was a master of weaving stories, telling tales of civilizations long passed and people who might have been forgotten by everyone but him. He learned how Techno found his own comfort in netherite, in violence and anger. He learned how Techno had neglected his needs for so long that now he forgot to eat for days, but he would never turn down a cup of tea or Phil’s cooking. 

(As immortal beings, they didn’t  _ need _ to eat, but Phil knew all too well that the hunger  _ hurt _ . It would course through them, leaving them feeling far emptier than should have been possible.)

“I got an invite,” Techno said one day out of the blue, between strokes of sharpening his sword. 

“Oh?” Phil knew that Techno received invites almost constantly from countless people wanting to prove themselves against the Blood God. Most of them were deleted without a second thought, so this one must have been special.

“Mm,” he rumbled. “Have you heard of Dream?”

“In passing.” In truth, Phil had heard many things of Dream. 

Phil had learned over time that there was a balance to the universe, that there were rules that he could break and rules that he couldn’t. It was part of his role as the Angel of Death - the responsibility of holding souls in the palms of his hands. Techno, on the other hand, cared for none of the universe’s rules, instead adhering to his own strict moral code, regardless of whether or not they adhered to any given server’s rules. 

Dream, on the other hand, did not adhere to any such rules. Their reputation for destruction was nothing compared to the whispers of Dream’s pure  _ chaos _ . Dream was known for breaking rules, for bending them to his will. He thrust his hands into the very fabric of the universe and  _ tore.  _

“It’s his server,” Techno said, voice unreadable. 

“I see.” Phil looked over at him. “Think it’s worth checking out?” 

“Could be interesting.” The barest of smirks curled at the corner of Techno’s mouth. Phil knew that meant Techno was already in. 

“Then let’s go,” Phil said, standing to stretch his spine, then physical wings, then ethereal wings, the spectral feathers brushing the ceiling. “It’s been a while since we’ve had some real fun.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment if you enjoyed! I've got a few chapters planned out, but I'm not sure if I'm satisfied with them, so let me know what you thought.


End file.
